The One We Feed

by Kristina Meister

  “If it were the worst possible outcome, if it purchases Reesa’s freedom, it is worth it.”

  I scowled down at my hands and made an accounting of my skill set. There was no way in hell I’d allow the worst possible outcome. If Devlin so much as blinked funny, an act of god the likes of which he could not imagine would fall right down on his head, along with the ceiling of the cavern.

  With one final assurance from Ananda, we got out of the car and cut in front of Ulrich’s current guest.

  Ananda waved a hand across the window solemnly. “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”

  Jinx snickered. “Thanks, Ulrich, and by the way, you’re looking less forlorn than usual.”

  A meathook pressed the button as if punching us. “I haf only sree hundred more nights to serve. Less zan a year, and I can go back to studying the shadows.”

  “There’s looking at the bright side,” I muttered as we slid through the gate.

  We walked down the stairs, our shadows skittering around the concrete walls in the wavering light of dirty lanterns. At the door, the guard took one look at Ananda and nearly lost his mind with regret that he would not see what was about to happen. With a heavy sigh, he opened the door, and I walked through, but when I turned back to make sure Ananda was still on my heels, the Arhat had vanished.

  I elbowed Jinx, explaining the situation with a jerk of my head.

  “We can’t get in if we don’t have him.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said with something of a relieved giggle, “I think he’s about to make a strategic move.”

  “Oh, fuck,” Jinx groaned. He turned to the secretary and smiled into the stretching silence.

  “Devlin gave specific instructions,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “If I break the rules, I’ll get worse than desk duty, and there is no color darker than black.”

  I grinned. Beside us, a group of exotic, tattooed beauties that looked as if they might have been gypsies in a past life were waiting patiently for their admittance to whatever quadrant of the Circle flew their individual kites. Without warning, they rose as a group and, glassy-eyed, meandered to the exit. Soon after, a shirtless man in leather hot pants got up from his seat and, trailing his leash, left.

  One by one, while we tapped our toes, the people in the waiting area found that they had other, more important things to do. The absurdity of it became too great, and tired of making herself dizzy by casting her eyes right and left, the receptionist stood up and leaned over the counter.

  “But…you’ve already paid!”

  Then suddenly, she too looked as if she had taken an overdose of Prozac and stepped from behind the desk with her skirts swishing. When the door was shut firmly behind her, I picked up two passes to the club area. Tonight they were laminated cards on a string, depicting the image of a white snake twined around a pitchfork. I put it around my neck where it almost vengefully chafed my talisman of Eva’s journals.

  Muttering obscenities to himself, Jinx followed me down the hall. “He’s going to get us in so much trouble.”

  “Don’t be such a baby, you twerp.”

  He shot me a withering look and tugged the cord around his neck. “You don’t know Devlin like I do.”

  “Well, so far, I’m not impressed.”

  Jinx halted. “You have no idea who he is, do you?”

  “Will I be impressed?”

  But Jinx bit his tongue-ring. “You better hope he doesn’t have any long wooden poles handy.”

  With a shrug, I followed him into the moving tempest that was the dance. Around us, people were twirling, stomping, waving, and gyrating, and as before, the platforms were filled with people doing their own, unique versions of body shots.

  I shuddered and dropped my eyes to my ninja shoes until we reached the stairs. At the top, taking stock of his kingdom, stood Darth Tacticus himself. He was wearing a dark green velvet blazer over his black clothing, and his hair was more tousled than before. He looked handsome, in an entirely unapproachable, vulture-like way. His narrowed, reptilian eyes were following me. Just for good measure, I smiled.

  Jinx took his seat again, and to my surprise there was a Redbull waiting beside an old porcelain tea set, complete with a plate of sliced lemon. It was just a set of dishes, but in it I saw the perfect opportunity to get Devlin back for being such a prick.

  “Isn’t that sweet? It’s too bad you didn’t make tonight Modesty Night!”

  Devlin’s eyes narrowed until I could no longer see the sclera. Tiny muscles beneath his skin tightened, gripped his jaw and pulled it closed against whatever vile thing he wanted to spit at me. The fixed gaze began to make my skin crawl as my confidence was jarred off her pedestal.

  I looked away. A few patrons cut through the dancers as if they were escaping in slow motion. While I watched, several others, once caught up in the frenzy, lost interest. One by one, Ananda was vacating the room.

  My confidence returned.

  “I hate to sound stupid, but I don’t get it. All this etiquette is out of place, isn’t it? You don’t really give a shit about anyone, do you? I mean if your goal is to be evil, go all the way.”

  Instead of smashing my head into something like Karl would have, he let go and folded his hands.

  “You have a delightful disregard about you that is almost tolerable, Lilith.”

  “From you that’s probably an insult, but I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  “I never insult things I despise. I do away with them. Keep this in mind when you glare at me so.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think, but recent events in my life had taught me not to allow my smart mouth to interfere with the action of my brain. Nothing I had experienced in the last few years made any sense, and it was stupid of me to continue confronting these things in the same old ways. I looked over my shoulder at the tea set.

  The greatest trick….

  I had said I wouldn’t play this high school game, but maybe I was, by my very nature. Maybe I couldn’t help but need a bully to combat. But if Devlin wasn’t the Devil, then maybe I needed to reexamine how I did things.

  “I concede the point. My thinking is biased, and you put on a good show, but twice, you’ve allowed us to enter.”

  “And twice, you have insulted me,” he said, in an almost inaudible voice.

  “I apologize,” I replied, though it turned my stomach. “I do need your help, and this is no way to begin a partnership. So….” As if Ananda had heard me, the music clattered to an immediate halt and the DJ sauntered away.

  Behind Devlin, one of the bouncers was scowling. He touched his ear and, with a swallow, stepped into the line of his master’s glare.

  “Devlin, Ulrich wants to know if we’re closing for the night. He says everyone is leaving.”

  I smiled at the flicker of confusion I saw on Devlin’s face. His eyes darted from point to point in a kind of wonder, then without any warning, he dismissed the entire lot of them.

  “Out. Now. Go topside and make sure nothing happens.”

  Bemused, reclining vamps unfolded themselves from cushions. They slinked past me down the stairs with sideways glances that were both insulted and interested. The shutting of the door echoed into the vacant cavern. Devlin had stopped looking around and had again settled his eyes upon me.

  “Well, now,” he murmured breathlessly, closing his eyes. “You do not disappoint, Madam.”

  “Miss. But let me warn you now, that if you make one move against us, I will tear you to pieces. Not that you would, of course.”

  “Of course,” Devlin whispered. When he opened his eyes, it was to find that the guest of honor had appeared and was standing on the opposite side of the table, staring with approval at the tea set between them.

  Amazement twitched at the corner of Devlin’s hitherto frozen mouth. His nostrils flared as if he caught a scent he liked. Flashes of red light danced across Ananda’s simple white shirt and loose, brown drawstring pants. He blinke
d in the glare and bowed his head. Without a word, Devlin pulled a tiny remote from his pocket and hit a button. The colored lights winked out, replaced by softened yellow. Suddenly the cavern seemed terribly hollow.

  “Welcome,” the practiced voice echoed.

  Ananda smiled, but it was not his usual smile. It was slightly drawn. It seemed I wasn’t the only one for whom enlightenment was a continuous process.

  “Your companion is something of a spitfire.” Devlin took yet another step toward his goal. It was the first time I had heard him laugh authentically, and, to my surprise, it did not repulse me. “There is a shadow growing across her character.”

  I was about to protest, but Ananda stopped me. “You are mistaken.”

  “Am I?”

  “There is no such thing as opposition. Balance is an illusion.”

  His words caught me off guard. Sure, I had experienced annica, the oneness of all things, but I couldn’t get the wisdom I had seen in Eva’s wolf story out of my mind. Everything was yin and yang. At every point, every person faced a choice and had to ask, will this come out right or will it cause harm?

  “Even according to your own logic,” Ananda continued, “light will always win, for the tiniest pinprick can destroy even the most stygian darkness.”

  Devlin’s chin dipped. He was smiling, not the predatory smile I had seen before, but an honest, gentle smile. “Ah yes, but somehow the blackness is always there first, always one step ahead.”

  Another few paces brought him to the couch. He sat slowly, as if he was worried he might frighten his guest away with any sudden moves. Splitting a slice of lemon almost lovingly, he positioned it around the edge of a teacup of hot water and placed the offering at Ananda’s table-setting.

  Ananda cradled the cup and saucer close to his chest as he leaned back into the leather. He glanced at my cautious, crouched stance and seemed to insist that I take a seat.

  “Move over, pipsqueak,” I grumbled at the unsuspecting genius. He slid over without a sound. I threw myself into his warmth.

  I was sure someone would speak, that given the immediacy of our situation, Ananda would begin a conversation, ask what this demon wanted, maybe even refuse to stay. I should have known better.

  They sat, considering each other. I felt like I was watching a dance, but no one moved a muscle. Finally, as Devlin reached out and picked up a cup, the Arhat’s lips parted.

  “You introduced Petula to the Sangha. You referred the Sangha to the men that burned the monastery,” he said, but somehow it did not sound like an accusation, even though it would make Devlin the murderer of his friends and protectors.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I did.”

  “And Ursula, who took refuge here? You sent her to my captors?”

  Devlin’s smile grew somewhat, taking on an almost crooked charm.

  “Sonofabitch!” Jinx let out in an explosive rush. He leaned forward so sharply, I thought he was about to jump across the coffee table, but he was merely putting himself into the thick of the conversation. “You….” He pointed at Devlin, suddenly unafraid of retaliation or social graces. “You were the one who got me that job with the coven in Louisiana! I was in KC because of you! I went to the coffee shop because of you!”

  I blinked dumbly into the quiet. Could it really be that every event that had transpired in the last five years had something to do with Devlin?

  “Every path I walked led me here,” Ananda whispered almost to himself. He set the cup down gently and closed his eyes.

  “There is not an immortal that walks this earth,” Devlin countered soothingly, “nor agency of man, that does not owe me something. I am Caesar. All roads lead to my door.”

  Still open-mouthed, I collapsed back. To combat every possibility, to arrange all the pieces so that no matter what move your opponents made they were forced into a direct confrontation, how long would that really take? Five years, I wondered. No, more like hundreds. Lifetimes.

  “You’re a stalker?” I blurted out. “You planned for hundreds of years just to meet Ananda? Why not just walk into the monastery and introduce yourself?”

  Devlin ignored me. He was far too concerned with the object of his affection to care what stupid things I had to say.

  “I won’t let you hurt him,” I said.

  “I would never hurt him, and now he knows it,” he replied, though it didn’t seem as if he was speaking to me. “Others perhaps...many others, but not him.”

  “How does he know it? Because you killed his friends and put him squarely in his enemy’s clutches?”

  “And yet he is still sitting here, free.” Devlin smiled. “He was not to be injured. I was very careful that our arrangement was clear. I am always very careful.”

  “Oh, I suppose hurting him would be rude?” I snickered. “Etiquette is the extension of empathy; I mean, what gives? You’re a confessed murderer. What’s the point?”

  Devlin sighed, finally certain that ignoring me would never silence me. It was a horrible realization to have, I’m sure, but I sort of didn’t care.

  He should learn to be less self-absorbed.

  “My dear,” he said airily, “the purpose of etiquette is to provide the parties of any interaction with reasonable expectations, so that no one can deny the ‘fairness’ of an exchange.”

  I think I rolled my eyes, but I was trying very hard not to. Maybe for him that’s what manners were, but for me they were something entirely different.

  “You’re polite to people so that they will agree with you when you visit them with consequences.”

  Jinx began to shiver with laughter. His body relaxed, and, for the first time since we set foot in the Circle, the Boy Wonder was himself.

  “Genius,” he giggled.

  I looked from him to Ananda. Both were clearly oblivious to the distrust and scorn I was feeling for the man.

  What am I missing?

  “Are you denying your philosophy then?” I rubbed a hand across my forehead, trying to smooth the wrinkles I found there.

  He raised an eyebrow. Again, I felt as if I recognized him from somewhere but couldn’t be sure. His face was haunting me, and Jinx’s clue told me that I should know him.

  “I have never claimed to have any philosophy.”

  “But….” I flapped an arm at the empty dance floor.

  He crossed his legs and folded his hands atop his knee. “All I did was very politely abstain from judgment. This had the remarkable effect of attracting exactly the type of persons with exactly the type of habits to be of most use. Such people require a remarkable level of ambivalence from their peers to survive.”

  “Wh...what?” Beside me, Jinx continued to laugh silently and Ananda to sip quietly. “Are you saying it’s an act?”

  “Belief always begins with an attempt to explain something felt, something intangible. People build arguments, using reason to explain things that defy reasoning.” He leaned forward smartly and refilled his teacup. “For example: the belief in God. They experience something profound, which they attribute to a deity. It would be fine for them to have their unfounded belief if it stayed in their own skull. Nothing in this world would change. The trouble arises when they then attempt to explain how their opinion works to someone who has not shared their experiences. Logic fails them. They resort to ontology, and thus prove nothing, but believe that they have.”

  My open mouth could only manage a, “Huh?”

  Jinx shook his head, “Ontology. C follows from B, which follows from A.”

  “I know what an ontological argument is!” I spluttered. “That answer had nothing to do with my question.”

  But evidently it had everything to do with my question, because once again, Devlin paid no attention to my protest. “Logic is merely the following of breadcrumbs left by the universe itself, beginning with skepticism. A method, if you will. Ontology, unlike logic, begins with desire. The believer is attempting to demonstrate to the outsider that non-empirical faith obe
ys the same laws and expectations as the audience’s empirical reality. In fact, they fail to realize that they have built their faith into their argument. You cannot define a word by using said word in the definition.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, not because I didn’t understand, but because I did and was thoroughly bothered by it.

  Ananda finally stopped sipping and rested his cup atop his saucer with a polite clink as if to alert everyone he was about to speak.

  “This species of immortal spent centuries trying to balance good and evil, two things that do not exist.”

  Devlin spread his arms over the back of the sofa. “But what happens to people who believe in ultimate perfection but perceive that they are in no way close to achieving it? They must find a place for themselves, and because they believe they cannot achieve greatness they aspire to the opposite, in order to maintain the balance, to serve the cause they themselves invented. They devote themselves so completely to this cause that they achieve an elevated level of control, and thus, immortality. But whoever said immortality should be the end of it?”

  “You make them sound like idiots,” I said in mild reproach.

  “They are.” He sighed again, this time even more laboriously. “The fact that they live longer does not absolve them from the same flaws as the rest of humanity. They do, after all, think with the same lump of grey meat.”

  “So then,” I pushed my hair behind my ears, “what is the end?”

  He blinked pensively at me for a moment. “I thought you knew.”

  Jinx’s giggle blossomed into a full-force laugh. “She was right, then. You don’t exist! You just take the shape of the space they made for you, the fucktards!”

  Devlin made a sound of disapproval for Jinx’s epithet, but it was ineffectual, since he’d been the one to expose the man behind the curtain. “It wasn’t too difficult. Put a few deserving people on spikes and you have your ticket in.”

  I’m sure Devlin was tired of seeing my tongue and molars, but I just couldn’t seem to keep my jaw from falling open. “Deserving?”

  “Forgive me,” he murmured, his gaze rolling back to Ananda’s face. “Of course, I mean to say that law is a social contract. If a person disobeys, he does so knowing the consequences. If a leader is to keep his side of the social contract, then he must make certain that all said consequences are meted out. ‘Deserving’ is a convenient word for their failure to comply, and ‘Justice,’ a convenient word for my obligatory response.”